Disclaimer: I don't own Avatar: The Last Airbender. :)
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Chapter 22: A Bittersweet Almost-Victory
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Blood.
Sokka saw it everywhere.
Of course, maybe it was just him. Maybe it was because of the flood of memories clogging his brain, his sense of color and light. Maybe everything looked red because that's how his mind told him it should be. Of course, there was always the possibility that everything really was red, red from...
He shoved the horrible thoughts aside. He didn't need to think about that now, about any of that now, now of all times. He had more urgent thing to attend to. Things like Toph. How her voice could penetrate the roar of battle was completely beyond comprehension, but there it had been, a cry of pain, hurt. He never believed anything could happen to her. He thought she, she, Toph, Toph of the Earth Kingdom, Toph the Blind Bandit... he thought she was a safe bet. He thought she could rise above the hate of the world, the horror, the violence and prevail when everyone else could not. Really, it was only natural to think such a thing of such an accomplished person. Really, anyone would believe that she defied harm, that she defied hurt, that nothing could stop her. He'd always thought his own mortality was more real than Toph's. It was a nice feeling, to think that she could take care of herself, that he didn't have to be afraid of losing her to the anger and hatred in the world. The world was hers, the element of the Earth itself, and yet...
He didn't know how long he'd stayed there, crouched down, but his thoughts became clearer and he considered rejoining the fight. Maybe, in a few minutes...
He didn't hear her scream again. He prayed to the Spirits that it had been imagined, that his perception of Toph was right, that she would always be safe when he couldn't protect her and that nothing could happen to her. He wanted her to live. It would be impossible to experience another life torn away from him, gone. He didn't want to be deprived of another hand to hold. How much could one warrior take, really? Did the Spirits believe that he was strong enough to withstand another loss, or was this the work of fate, of a heartless force that controlled the world over with no guilt at taking innocent lives?
Maybe the rest of the world didn't think of her like he did. Maybe the rest of the world expected her to protect them. Maybe he expected her to protect herself.
Instinct told him to go into the palace. Something was happening...
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General Hao surveyed the scene from atop the post Zuko had assigned him, a balcony high up in the palace. He liked what he saw. He was not a violent man, nor a malicious one; of course, like every person, he enjoyed winning, and it seemed that they would. An oppressive darkness had settled over them, the last tendrils of daylight having faded; behind the smoke and blaze was a starless sky, a moonless night. The only light came from the fires of the battle, and the flames were becoming ever stronger because fire has a life of its own.
The general felt a light tap on his shoulder and turned warily; it was a small guy, obviously very young and very nervous. He gulped under the general's hard stare and lifted his arm to hand over a scroll. General Hao took it with a sense of annoyance and the boy watched his eyes scan the page, the general's facial features becoming more defined with every moment. He touched the royal seal in the corner of the parchment and turned toward the boy. "This is directly from Fire Lord Zuko?" he said at last.
The boy nodded. "He wrote it quickly, but it's from him, all right," he confirmed.
The man grunted. The scroll's contents were bittersweet; Azula was dead, something of a wonderful miracle, but Zuko didn't want him to bring in the soldiers. In fact, he specifically wanted his men to stay out there; as the letter said, he wanted every last one of Azula's men to "cease to exist," because one survivor could spark another rebellion. No prisoners. No survivors. He wanted them dead. End of story.
"Very well, then," the man murmured, waving a hand to dismiss his inferior colleague.
The boy turned to go. When the general felt sure that he was alone, he tucked the letter away. He thought about what this would mean for himself, for the Fire Lord, for the world. Azula was dead! She had finally been killed, and by none other than the Fire Lord himself. Of course, he knew that Zuko would have all of Azula's followers disposed of - the ones that didn't desert, anyway - but surely he could recall the troops!
His eyes drifted to the beautiful flames fringing the battlefield. He could visibly see Azula's men winding down, both in number and spirits; they knew something was wrong. It satisfied him to know that they were worried, what with their leader's disappearance.
He would have to gather the Avatar and company to converse with the Fire Lord privately. Being in the presence of the Avatar still gave him chills, despite the fact that he should be accustomed to it; he was, after all, more than just a general (that should have been fighting down below and would have, too, had Zuko not assigned him to that particular post) for the Fire Lord's army. He was an advisor, often asked to accompany the Fire Lord when he was entertaining certain guests. Guests like the Avatar.
He estimated that the fight would be over within the hour. He could see Azula's men, individuals (he'd always had uncanny vision, even as a child) falling to the ground to die a slow, painful death, others disappearing into the depths of the forest, and still others, very few, now, still fighting. They were aware that their efforts were futile, but they were standing up for a cause they believed in. The general respected these men, mostly because they had the courage to keep fighting when others did not; he pitied them, too, because he knew that they had been victimized by Azula. He had known men, friends and enemies alike, who had fallen under her spell, and he knew what it was like to lose a loved one.
His brother had died in the war.
He didn't want anyone to go through the pain he had gone through, but he knew that countless families would endure it. He just didn't want to be the one to cause it. If he did not shoot off that firework that signaled the soldiers and warriors to cease and desist, to give the enemy a chance to breathe and learn for sure that their leader was dead and that resistance was futile, he felt like he would be causing families pain, families that didn't deserve to hurt. Families like his own. It was an example of conflicting duties; a duty to what he felt was right, and a duty to his own leader. If he wanted to live, he would choose the latter.
He wanted to survive. He would wait.
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Katara threw her head back, wishing to breathe deeply but only taking small gasps of air for all of the smoke and haze. Her eyes were greeted with nothing more than continuous pollutants and the blackest of night skies, and she wondered what was going on. She tried to stay near the palace, but navigating in the murky atmosphere the soldiers had created for themselves was nearly impossible; she wiped her eyes and trudged forward, having not come in contact with an enemy soldier for some time. She desperately wondered where on Earth those fireworks were, and why, for Spirits' sake, they hadn't been shot off. She seemed to wander aimlessly, but alas, her journey was with purpose; she found herself drifting toward loud voices rather than the clangs and clashes of armor against weapon, of slamming and grinding and spitting and spurting, the telltale sounds of battle that made it terribly difficult to even hear oneself think.
She couldn't see very far in front of her. It came as no surprise when someone stumbled backward into her, but even as she went to raise her waterwhip with a quick, graceful motion, she stopped herself. "Sokka!"
Her brother also had his weapons raised, but at the sound of his name, he lowered them. "Katara?"
She nodded and lunged at him, enveloping him in a hug. "What's going on? There's been no fireworks, no generals yelling orders- the only sounds are of fighting, and sights are of smoke. What's happening?"
Sokka shoved her away, and her expression was that of alarm. He put a hand on her shoulder and she noticed with a twinge of annoyance that a tiny grin had formed on his face. "Katara... Azula's dead. Zuko took her down, and..." He hesitated. "Aang helped him. A lot."
Katara smiled too, but before she could hug him again, he put up a palm to stop her. "No cause for hugging yet, there'll be plenty of time for that after all of this is over." His voice had grown colder. "Zuko wants all of them dead, every last enemy soldier. Every single one. How we're supposed to tell when that has been achieved, I have no idea, but he's the Fire Lord, so what he says goes." He ruffled her hair. "And you're still my baby sister, so be careful, okay?"
Katara rolled her eyes and decided not to point out that he was her senior by merely a year. "I'll be fine. So, um..." He needed to go, to keep fighting because it was Zuko's will, but she had to know. "How's Aang?"
Sokka grinned again. "He's better off than you are right now," he replied, and while Katara really didn't think that meant too much, Sokka walked off and disappeared into the debris like an apparition. She didn't like the fact that she hadn't been able to hug him, and she didn't like it that he wouldn't give her a clearer answer relating to Aang's state of health, but at least things were looking up. Dead! Azula was dead! She wanted to smile and laugh and have fun with all of her friends, to put all the joy she felt to good use because it was worth nothing on the battlefield. She sighed, deflating a tiny bit. They could stop, they could stop at any time, but His Royal Highness (she rolled her eyes at the title, which she didn't think fit Zuko very well at all) didn't want them to. He wanted Azula's men taken down, totally and completely. But what about the deserters? And why, for Spirits' sake, would he ever want to further exploit his own men? Surely they were in a similar state to herself, if not much, much worse, so where was the sense in the continuation of this ridiculous battle? If Katara had been in Zuko's place, she would have ceased fighting upon Azula's death. Of course, she had about as much power, but the influences she did have barely rested with Zuko's army, so she simply scowled and waited. It was all she could do.
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